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<h1><a href="https://archiveofourown.org/works/24323752">A Bond of Convenience</a> by <a class='authorlink' href='https://archiveofourown.org/users/mycroftirl/pseuds/mycroftirl'>mycroftirl</a></h1>

<table class="full">

<tr><td><b>Category:</b></td><td>Sherlock (TV), Sherlock Holmes &amp; Related Fandoms</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Genre:</b></td><td>Alpha John Watson, Alpha Mycroft, Alpha Mycroft Holmes, Alpha Sherlock Holmes, Alpha/Beta/Omega Dynamics, Alpha/Omega, Blackmail, Eventual Mycroft Holmes/Greg Lestrade, Eventual Parentlock, Eventual relationship, Extortion, Greg Lestrade Whump, Greg just wants to have kids, Greg's wife is a cunt, M/M, Mpreg, Mycroft is a bit not good but for good reasons, Mycroft is a good Alpha, Not Britpicked, Omega Greg, Omega Greg Lestrade, Omega Verse, Omegaverse, Rape, Relationship of Convenience, Sherlock is a Brat, Surrogacy, Whump, character whump, do i have to do everything in this fandom, implied rape, spousal abuse, there's a happy ending i swear</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Language:</b></td><td>English</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Status:</b></td><td>In-Progress</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Published:</b></td><td>2020-06-17</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Updated:</b></td><td>2020-05-22</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Packaged:</b></td><td>2021-05-04 05:15:16</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Rating:</b></td><td>Mature</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Warnings:</b></td><td>Rape/Non-Con</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Chapters:</b></td><td>1</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Words:</b></td><td>4,039</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Publisher:</b></td><td>archiveofourown.org</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Story URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/works/24323752</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Author URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/users/mycroftirl/pseuds/mycroftirl</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Summary:</b></td><td><div class="userstuff">
              <p>A year has passed since Gregory Lestrade divorced his Beta wife Kate. He’s fine, just fine, thank you very much. There has been no action for him, but he’s knackered and really doesn’t see the point in looking. After an exhausting case that Sherlock has refused to assist on, Greg’s preparing to leave the Yard for the evening when the elder Holmes brother surprises him with a visit. With a bit of pleasant, if not forced, conversation, Greg waves off Mycroft and heads home for the day, only realizing his error when he’s driving.<br/>His Scent has been wafting off of him for the last twenty or so minutes, perhaps longer. His very much Omega scent. The Scent he’s kept hidden for nigh on 18 years. The Scent he has worked hard to keep from everyone finding out about. Because Gregory Lestrade is no Alpha as everyone around him thinks. He’s an Omega. And right now, there is a person very much aware of it. Mycroft Holmes, quite possibly the most dangerous man Greg knows. Fuck.</p>
            </div></td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Relationships:</b></td><td>Mycroft Holmes &amp; Greg Lestrade, Mycroft Holmes/Greg Lestrade, Past Greg Lestrade/Greg Lestrade's Wife</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Comments:</b></td><td>19</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Kudos:</b></td><td>112</td></tr>

</table>

<a name="section0001"><h2>A Bond of Convenience</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>A rough hand scrubbed over a stubbled chin. A tired groan escaped the man as he stood up from his desk, rolling his shoulders as he moved. He heard, rather than felt, the pop of his joints as his stiff muscles moved. It had been a long day, running about a very drizzly and rainy London looking for a suspected murderer. Nothing out of the ordinary, but it would have gone plenty quicker if Sherlock had picked up his damned phone and offered insight. Instead, Greg Lestrade had received a text stating that he “already knew who he was looking for, there isn’t much more I can do”. Bloody bastard. All ready and raring for a case and to see it through until it became a simple cut and dry murder and suddenly, he was much too busy to chase down a suspect.</p><p>Why he bothered keeping the petulant Alpha around was beyond Greg. Well, no, he knew why. He liked having the young man around. He liked seeing the lad working hard, keeping him out of trouble, and just rising above the despondent young man that Greg had found ages ago, curled up in a doss house. It was worth all the pain and nuisances Sherlock put him through.</p><p>But that was to be expected when working with a Holmes, wasn’t it? A never-ending headache that was worth every second.</p><p>Ever since the lad had gotten clean, had found a friend, and had more or less made a name for himself, cases weren’t simply taken to have something to do. They had to be <em>interesting</em> now. No less than a six for him to consider it, no less than a seven for him to take it. Eight and higher were almost guaranteed to have the consultant’s assistance.</p><p>Sally had been the last to leave from the team. She’d popped her head into Greg’s office to remind him not to stay too late. She’d told him that he deserved a weekend, too, and Greg had waved her off with assurance that he was just finishing up paperwork. He had a six pack in the fridge, ready for him to crack into, and there was the potential for picking up a good Pad Thai before heading home, if he got his order in sooner rather than later. A nice, relaxing weekend to himself. Greg hadn’t had one in months, probably not since celebrating his divorce, and that had been a solid night of drinking followed by two days of unimaginable pain and nausea from his hangover. Not exactly relaxing, in hindsight.</p><p>Truthfully, he’d do it again. It had been ages since he’d had some reason to celebrate, and divorcing Kate had been well worth every paracetamol he’d swallowed after the night.</p><p>No, this weekend would be far more lowkey, spent just by himself. Probably clean the flat, call up his sister and see how her and her mate were doing. If he had the energy, he could probably even do a trip to the shops and make a good meal at least one of the two nights he had off. What was it his sister had called it? ‘Self-care’? That definitely rang true to what he wanted to do that weekend. Yeah, it was a solid weekend plan, he thought.</p><p>Just had to get out the door and he was home free.</p><p>Jacket pulled on, keys in one hand, and his finger hovering over the power button on his computer. His keys jangled as he straightened up suddenly, the sound of an umbrella tapping against a heel sounded. Oh, buggering <em>fuck</em>. Usually there would be a text from Anthea, Mycroft’s PA, or, on a few rare instances, a call from the man himself.</p><p>Greg found he enjoyed the calls far more than he probably ought to.</p><p>“Mycroft, always a pleasure,” Greg said tightly, smiling at the other man despite the slight deflation in his mood. Damn. So much for dinner. Sighing, he settled back in his chair, trying to hide his disappointment.</p><p>There, in the doorway to his office, was Mycroft Holmes. An Alpha, who Greg was, of course, completely familiar with. He was lightly damp on the lower half of his trousers from the rain, and only looked mildly miffed at the fact, though the expression was quickly masked when he straightened up, aware that he was being stared at by the DI. He looked tired, something that Greg could sympathize with. Whatever Greg had dealt with on a daily basis, Mycroft likely handled far more just within a few hours. If anyone had any right to being exhausted to their bones, it was Mycroft Holmes. Greg wouldn’t blame the man if he fell asleep right there where he stood.</p><p>“Bad timing, Detective Inspector?” Mycroft asked, eyebrow raised as he finished shaking the rain off of his umbrella. The government official’s eyes slid over the DI, making Greg almost squirm in his seat but thankfully was only stopped by his exhaustion. A look of realization dawned on the elder Holmes’ face, and he made a small noise in understanding. “Ah. You were about to leave for the evening. I apologize. I know it’s rather late. I can come back at another time if you’d prefer—”</p><p>Greg waved one hand dismissively, interrupting the other man.</p><p>“No, no. No. It’s… Well, yeah. I was heading home, actually. It’s fine, though. No worries. I know you’ve got a busy schedule. Hard to grab free time, eh?” Greg said, tucking his keys back into his pocket and then gestured for Mycroft to sit.</p><p>He didn’t get his own weekends, generally. Usually it was spent working on a case or dealing with Kate’s bitchy texts and phone calls. It had been ages since he’d had a weekend to himself. A weekend to relax, to just do what he wanted to do, uninterrupted. Fingers were crossed this would be the weekend. Greg had been half tempted to turn off all notifications on his mobile so he could enjoy himself, but that really wasn’t something he’d ultimately do. Greg was far too honest of a man to do something like that. Far too good a person. A decent person, he’d call himself.</p><p>Just had to shake off Holmes, and he’d be on his way.</p><p>“Go ahead. Sit down. No sense wasting the trip. What can I do for you? Sherlock hasn’t been any trouble, y’know. No more than usual, at least,” Greg said with a half-hearted smile, resting one elbow on the armrest of his chair, resting his head against his hand. Maybe if he looked disinterested, Mycroft would take pity on him.</p><p>A small but polite laugh escaped Mycroft at the mention of Sherlock.</p><p>There were very few reasons as to why Mycroft would visit Greg, Of course, the primary and near constant reason for their friendship was Sherlock. Ages ago, there had been frequent meetings between the two, back when Sherlock was thin and sickly, balancing on a thread of sobriety and desperately clinging to life. Mycroft had been gaunt then. Greg had been younger. There had been a stiff and almost combative nature between the two. Mycroft had a firm hand with his younger brother, while Greg favoured the gentle and understanding approach. Tension had risen between the two when Sherlock had responded more favourably to Greg’s attention and assistance, but everything had smoothed out when Mycroft had realized that it didn’t matter <em>who</em> was helping Sherlock, so long as it was effective and the young man was actually staying sober. If Mycroft was still bitter about that bit of their past, he’d hidden it well. Since that argument—for it <em>had</em> been an argument, and one Greg was surprised he’d made it out of alive—there had been a pleasant civil relationship between the two. Greg would go so far as to call them friends, though he was certain Mycroft probably only saw him as an asset. Not that he minded. Hell, he wouldn’t be surprised if that was how <em>both</em> Holmes brothers viewed him.</p><p>After all, Greg gave Sherlock cases, and he updated Mycroft on Sherlock’s wellbeing. That was just that. Purely a transactional relationship, when you took a step back and removed any sort of emotion to the relationship.</p><p>The only other times Mycroft and he had gotten together was nearly two years ago, when he had caught wind of Greg filing divorce papers. There had been condolences for the failed marriage, a touch of smugness in Mycroft’s tone that Greg chalked up to the man’s desire to be right all the time. It was hard to not get just a touch offended or puffed up whenever one of the Holmes brothers displayed their emotional constipation at the wrong time. Mycroft was at least better and usually had tact. <em>Usually</em>.</p><p>Mycroft smiled dryly as he sat down, umbrella resting against the chair, hands folding neatly in his lap. Always presentable, always neatly put together. Hell, even his suit barely had a crease in it. Fuck, Greg <em>wished</em> he could always look as well dressed and collected as Mycroft managed to. That just had to come with the position and power. Maybe there was a class Mycroft had to attend ages ago when he first accepted the position. Or, perhaps, that was just how Mycroft had ended up. He was, after all, the Alpha to take over the Holmes estate, so naturally there would have been a strict upbringing.</p><p>Whatever it was, Greg was just mildly jealous of it.</p><p>“No more than usual,” Mycroft echoed, ring finger on one hand tapping delicately against his wrist on the other hand. The look he fixed on Greg was curious, but it quickly faded away to the calm mask that Mycroft usually wore in public, and the expression Greg was familiar with by now. He had not seen emotion on the other’s face—<em>genuine</em> emotion—in years. It would worry Greg, but it was probably just a survival mechanism for Mycroft. Something necessary to get through the days and protect himself. Part of Greg wondered what seeing the Alpha less restricted, more emotional. “I’m aware of the trouble he gave you on this case. I’m aware you caught your man, though. A relief on your end, I’m sure.”</p><p>The ginger haired man looked at him once more, eyes narrowed. Reading everything about Greg’s day, probably. Seeing the pitiful breakfast of toast and a coffee at home, the outburst at Sally for Sherlock’s bitchiness, probably even seeing the sad wank he had had that morning in the shower. This was all something that Greg was used to. The first time they’d properly met, Mycroft had pointed out that the other’s then-wife had hesitated when kissing him goodbye that morning, that Greg had received a call from one of his sisters relating to a family member passing away the day before, and that there had been an argument with Kate a week previous that was still eating at Greg.</p><p>Greg still wondered how he had only just barely kept his voice steady while telling Mycroft, in no uncertain terms, to fuck off and maybe not point all of those things out to the man responsible for saving your little brother from certain death. It was also a mystery as to how Mycroft hadn’t had him tossed on some beastly little island or put in front of a firing squad right then and there.</p><p>“Cor, yeah. Would have been easier if Sherlock had answered his fucking phone or not flounced off the second that we realized that Murphy was our suspect, but what can you do, huh?” Greg shrugged his shoulders lazily, leaning back into his chair, searching for a comfortable position. Hopefully, Mycroft would cut to the chase sooner than later. Pleasant small talk was one thing, but Lord, did Greg wanted to go home. “Got our man, that’s all I care about, though. And he confessed right quick when we pulled his dental records and showed him his teeth matched the bite marks on the Betas he killed.”</p><p>“Ah, yes. I’m sure a rampaging Alpha with a grudge against Omegas would be, hm, a <em>problem</em> to deal with. Especially when said Alpha is on the streets. No doubt he would have moved on to Omegas instead of waifish Betas had he remained uncaptured.” Mycroft’s words were light, conversational, but they were true. Had Greg not managed to chase down the Alpha and tackled him, he’d probably have escalated.</p><p>It was weird how Mycroft was so easy to bounce conversations like these off of. Like it was weather, and not grisly murder.</p><p>Something about working with homicide had made Greg just a bit blasé about murder and related matters. Thankfully, Mycroft had never been too fussed over these types of conversations. They’d had them plenty of times in the past, usually when discussing the Alpha’s younger and more reckless brother. Besides, it wasn’t like Greg was careless about his words, about his opinions, and about confidentiality. It was Mycroft, though, and if the Alpha decided to have one of his minions look into it, he’d have all the gruesome details he wanted for the case. He could see the ragged bodies of the Betas that had had their throats gnawed and ripped apart, just beneath their ears, right on the spots where an Omega’s scent glands would be. The Betas own, smaller and less potent ones, scent glands had been torn out or mangled. The pictures had been disgusting, but they were nothing compared to some cases Greg had worked. Probably nothing compared to what Mycroft had seen now that Greg thought about it.</p><p>What the fuck did Mycroft even do in his position?</p><p>Greg knew that Mycroft was Government with a capital ‘G’. That had never been debated. Sherlock had said that Mycroft was ‘The British Government personified’, and while Greg didn’t put <em>much</em> faith in that description, he wasn’t exactly going to ignore the possibility that it was the truth. With the way Mycroft held himself, with the way he could just <em>be there</em> at a crime scene without anyone raising a question, how he could just find you when he needed you… Well, that was definitely not a mere civil servant of the Queen, that was for damn sure.</p><p>Greg’s line of thought was interrupted by Mycroft’s voice. The other had been talking, and Greg scrabbled to tune back into the other’s words. Fuck, he really was tired, wasn’t he?</p><p>“—apologize for Sherlock’s actions and his stubbornness. He’s been in a mood as of late, I’m sure you’ve noticed. Despite his boredom, he simply <em>refuses</em> to take up any case <em>I</em> offer him. I know, you’re certain he’s not going to relapse, but it would do well to keep a closer eye on him. You’ve been exceptional at spotting a potential relapse,” Mycroft said, either not noticing that Greg hadn’t been paying attention, or simply not caring. Eagle sharp blue eyes tracked Gregory’s shifting body, nostrils flaring for a moment as Greg sighed. Oops. Not the best move when you had the most powerful Alpha in London sitting across from you.</p><p>“Sorry. Long day,” Greg offered with a guilty smile and a shrug of his shoulders. “I don’t think, for the record, Sherlock’s going to relapse at all. But duly noted, I’ll keep an eye on the lad.”</p><p>“I’m holding you up. Let me walk you to your car, Inspector.” Mycroft didn’t even seem to be paying attention to what Greg had said, like the entire matter of Sherlock was disregarded.</p><p>Hell, his response wasn’t even a question or invitation. It was stated, matter-of-factly. There was no getting out of the other seeing him off. Greg held his tongue on his protest. He was a cop, for fuck’s sake. He could walk to his car on his own, thank you very much. With extreme reluctance, Greg stood up, tucked his chair away, and nodded in agreement. No point arguing with Mycroft Holmes on something as simple as leaving his work for the night. He’d lose, plain and simple.</p><p>Locking his office behind him, Greg caught the sound of Mycroft asking him something, but he couldn’t quite catch it at first.</p><p>“Whassat?” Greg asked as he turned to face Mycroft, doing up his zip on his jacket as he did so.</p><p>“I merely asked if you have any plans for your evening and weekend, Inspector,” Mycroft replied simply, adjusting his own coat, fixing one of the top buttons with a small frown. Couldn’t even have a button undone, lest he look plebian. “You’re not due back until Monday. And I’m sure some non-work related conversation to end your day would be nice and decompressing.”</p><p>“Oh, right.” Greg rubbed the back of his neck as they stopped in front of the lift, Mycroft politely pressing the button. “Not really, no. Might call my sister. Her and her Omega’s daughter, my niece, has her birthday comin’ up soon. See what they’re plannin’ for it. Clean. Watch telly. You know how it is. Simple things.”</p><p>Well, maybe Mycroft <em>didn’t</em> know how it was. It was entirely possible with the Holmes family fortune at his fingertips and in his bank account, Mycroft probably employed a full house staff, complete with a butler in a monocle and a fancy, twiddly, mustache. Greg’s laugh slipped out before he could catch himself, and he grinned apologetically at Mycroft as they boarded the lift. It wasn’t <em>that</em> funny, but it was definitely amusing. Nothing he’d ever say to the other, though. Mycroft would look at him as if he’d grown a second head, probably. Greg would wish he would have, as it would make any situation like that way easier to deal with than explaining that his pedestrian mind had amused him with a relatively sudden but nonetheless entertaining intrusive thought.</p><p>They’d never had a conversation like this, something mindless and without any intention. Usually it was about Sherlock. Sometimes about a case that was suddenly no longer under Greg’s jurisdiction. But mindless chit chat? Just asking about weekend plans and the like? Nothing. Ever. Not in the eight years Greg had known the man. Not since they’d moved from very stiff meetings after being kidnapped off the street for an hour or two and into formal phone calls and summons to the Diogenes Club.</p><p>“I see. Your niece, she’ll be… Five, yes? According to your family files.”</p><p>Greg bristled at that. Something about Mycroft having <em>files</em> on him and his family… That rubbed him wrong. That raised alarm bells in his head. It was one thing to know they existed but never acknowledge them. It was another to hear it, straight and honest, from the man. Sherlock had always mentioned that Mycroft kept files on people he came into contact with, and they were kept meticulously organized so they could be consulted at a moment’s notice.</p><p>“Mmhm. She’s an absolute delight, honestly. Still calls me ‘Unca Greg’ cos she thinks it’s cute.” It was cute. “And Maggie’s always willin’ to let me come ‘round and see her. When I get the time, o’course.”</p><p>“Of course.”</p><p>The soft ding as they hit their floor sounded, and the two men made their way out to the lobby and straight through the front door. Mycroft raised his umbrella as they walked right into the light rain of London evening. Greg’s nose crinkled when Mycroft gestured for him to join him under the protection, but he did so without question. Better than getting wet and having to deal with soggy clothes on the way home. He didn’t want to put the wash on when he got home.</p><p>“Well, I hope you enjoy your weekend, Inspector. My apologies for keeping you late,” Mycroft said when they reached Greg’s car. He held the umbrella up long enough for Greg to climb into the car. While he spoke, he had pulled his mobile out and was texting, which made Greg smile just a tad. So much for preferring calling over texting. It was a human action for a man who detested displaying any sense of humanity. A black vehicle pulled alongside his own, and Greg chuckled. At least he hadn’t been kidnapped this time. That would have really cut into his personal time.</p><p>“’S alright, Mycroft. I promise. Nothing to worry about. I’m only sorry that we have to cut it short. We’ll talk later, yeah?” Greg said as he started the car, offering Mycroft a crooked smile through the open window, which Mycroft surprisingly returned.</p><p>“Indeed. Good evening, Inspector.” Mycroft seemed to regard Greg for just a moment, his narrowed eyes raking over the DI as if questioning something. After a moment, he gave a stiff but polite nod to the other.</p><p>With that, Mycroft climbed into the backseat of the other vehicle, and the car took off, leaving Greg in his own.</p><p>“Yeah, g’night, Holmes,” Greg muttered to the empty air as rolled his window back up. There was a buzzing in his pocket, which made him grimace. There was a good chance it was Kate texting him, and he wasn’t exactly eager to look at <em>that </em>mess. Not quite yet. After the weekend, maybe. With extreme reluctance, he grabbed out his phone, in case it was something serious, and sighed in relief.</p><p>A text from Maggie. Thank fuck. Simple. He tapped the notification on his phone and laughed when it showed him a video sent from his sister, featuring wee little Olivia standing on a chair at the kitchen counter, covered in flour and melted chocolate, a broad grin on her face. Maggie’s laughter could be heard in the background. The video had been followed with the text, “Future pâtissier in the making, yeah? Think Nan would approve?” Greg couldn’t help but beam at the sight. God, how he wished… But, no, no. Kate hadn’t wanted them, and it wasn’t in the cards for Greg.</p><p>After a quick reply telling Maggie he’d call in the morning, Greg adjusted the radio to a soft rock station and took off, already forgoing himself to a frozen meal dug out from the freezer, rather than takeaway he’d been hoping for. Not as spectacular an evening, but it was a meal, at least. And better than the meager lunch of crisps that he’d had that day.</p><p>As he drove, Greg became distinctly aware of a smell filling the car. A soft sweetness, not too overpowering or sickly, but like fresh spring flowers tinged with the comforting touch of a good ale. Just the barest hints of cigarette smoke, even. Something Greg had given up a year ago, much to the relief of his lungs and his doctor.</p><p>Greg’s stomach churned unpleasantly as the realization sunk in. Just exactly what he was smelling. And with that realization came another, and Greg’s fingers tightened around the wheel, his jaw clenching tightly.</p><p>The day had had an early start. He’d been far too active. Greg had been chasing after suspects, dealing with crime scene bullshit from Sherlock, and just the general red tape of solving what should be a simple case now that they had their suspect in custody. To top it all off, the stress of the surprise visit from the elder Holmes had gotten to him as well.</p><p>It had all culminated in one very terrible, extremely uncomfortable thing.</p><p>The suppressant spray Gregory had relied upon for the last eighteen years had worn off within the last 45 minutes or so. It had steadily worked its way off of his skin. And Mycroft had been privy to the entire event. At the very least, he’d smelled the last 20 minutes.</p><p>The nostrils flaring. The genuine look of surprise he’d had. The insistence to walk him to his car. He knew.</p><p>Mycroft Holmes, possibly the most dangerous Alpha in London, possibly the world, had smelled his true scent. Had smelled the growing notes of Greg’s scent glands emanating from his neck. Mycroft fucking Holmes knew he was an Omega and had said absolutely nothing about it directly.</p><p>A sharp inhale brought Greg’s world screeching back into focus and on his exhale, he could only say one word. Rough, tense, nervous.</p><p>“Fuck."</p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Author's Note:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>Hello hello! This is my first, actually planned out, outlined, fic I have written. This has been sitting in my mind for over three years but has finally, very rudely, to the forefront of my mind. I have spent three months working on the world building, the biology, the plot (it's mild, but there is plot). I have up to chapter 5 fully outlined, chapter 2 and 3 are in the process of being written. Updates may be a bit slow but I really want to see this one to the end. Please head the tagged warnings.</p></blockquote></div></div>
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